


Lingering Warmth

by Demon_bird



Category: The Letter (Visual Novel)
Genre: Because Evil-ms-spirit is evil, Death route, F/M, I'm not sure this is a happy or sad ending honestly, Kinda-soulmatey hints?, Non-True ending, Post-Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12005883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demon_bird/pseuds/Demon_bird
Summary: Even after her death and the silence post-haunting, Her warmth still lingered.





	Lingering Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Right, I'm honestly not sure what to say about this. This goes under the idea that this happens post Isabella/death route, which I am aware is not the canon-true ending. But even if it isn't labeled true, it was still a good story. (granted I actually prefer the 'they both live' endings. Buuuuut, tragedy. *dodges tomatoes*

She was gone, Ashton knew that, but it didn’t mean he didn’t miss her. None of them could to be honest, and while the hole no longer bled, there was still ache. There were stop gaps to numb the pain with little stolen fragments that would remind them of a happier time. For Zach, it had been one particular sketchbook, filled to the brim of pictures of animals, people, but most importantly, a shot of all 3 of them laughing at something most likely stupid. For Rebecca, she had stolen a little rose statue, but unlike Zach who hid his memento in a drawer, she proudly displayed it on her mantle, sometimes staring at it wistfully. For Ashton however, he preferred something a little more practical and personal, so he had taken one of her more used hair ties. It wasn’t her scrunchie, which was disposed of after the… incident, but one that he remembered she always seemed to grab when in a rush. The pink thing had been a target for teasing for a grand total of 4 seconds before the rookies learned that to mock it meant experience a look that would scare the best of them into submission. He was always careful with it, trying to salvage it as the rubber band began to lose its flexibility and when it gave out, he had simply snipped it in half, sealed the ends, and wrapped it around a more sensible black tie. It helped him hold onto the things about Isabella he had loved; Isabella’s smile, her warmth, her love, how she brought out the better side of him. It was a bitter truth for him, knowing that he wasn’t able to save her, to see her again as anything but a cold corpse under the ground, to tell her just how he felt, and perhaps hear the answer from her own lips, good or bad. It wasn’t as if he didn’t try to move on. He dated, hell there were a onetime fling, but it all felt wrong, so after a few rebellious months, he simply devoted himself wholly to his pursuit of justice. All his regrets lingered with him, tainted his words at times, but as much as he wished he could forget her, he couldn’t.

No, it would be a bigger insult to do so. Ashton wasn’t the most imaginative person, that was yet again, one of her stronger fortes, but he could almost remember the feel of Isabella’s hands, not soft and unmarred like Rebecca’s silken palms nor rough like the hands of Zach’s grandmother. It was warm and comforting, like the velvety foot pad of a cat. A very friendly cat who just grumbled when you’d keep poking. Her laugh sometimes lingered as he woke from the dreams, where she would just be sitting there, just talking and smiling, making his world fill with color again, only to dim as the reality came back in his face. Other times they would just sit there, quiet and watching the very stars she wished to see, though she shone more brightly then they ever could. Little moments of imagined love; Moments that made him almost miss the dreams where he would have woken up needing to jump into the nearest pool of artic levels of cold water. At least those were followed by embarrassment and guilt for viewing her in a less then proper way instead of the pangs of longing.

* * *

In his dreams, they were ageless, still looking as young as they had right before the letter, with her slightly worried smile and his wiry smirk. In his dreams, they were happy just being there. 

* * *

Years passed, but the darkness did not dim, nor the nightmares. The remaining three knew that it would have been foolhardy to dismiss the evil that had torn from them the living embodiment of spring sunshine which had barreled into their lives. The vengeful, spiteful _bitch_ that tore her to pieces, as if jealous of her very being. But instead of falling into despair, they struggled to move on in their lives like they figured Isabella would want them to. For Ashton, he filled his days with work, tirelessly working on case after case, but being as logical ~~Hopeful~~ as he was, Ashton started to realize that perhaps there was something else in those dark dreams and terrors.

It started with an off comment or wistful comment from Zach or Rebecca.

_I had a dream last night… about Isabella… She… She was in one of those moods, nagging me about moping again._

_Isabella came to me in a dream last night. Ironic that even in dreams she’s telling me to smile._

In his own dreams, she would taunt him, tease him, as if saying “Don’t even think about stopping.” Or she would say that outright; depended on the dream. Other times, he would wake up with a cry for help, only to find that he couldn’t remember much more then hands pushing him out of the way. A psychologist would say it was a coping mechanism for trauma, heck the old Ashton would do the same, but a part of him, buried under the cynicism and denial wanted to believe that she was still watching over them. Isabella wasn’t just the type to let even death stop her form helping her friends. Hell, she would more likely charm the grim reaper himself, just as long as he didn’t try to woo her or anything.

Time continued on, and though he didn’t really do much more then dream, the spark of love she gave him continued to live on. But Isabella’s memory did not fade, her face did not lose its definition, and fate was a capricious bitch to them again.

Oddly, it wasn’t him whom the reaper had approached, but Zach. The man was nearly run over by a drunk driver, only to accidentally stumble right out of the way and end up with a sprained ankle. Everyone said it was pure luck and it was the answer most easily taken, but that night in the hospital room, the man had admitted to the two of them (funny, it seemed that an accident was the best way to get both he and Rebecca into the same room these days) something.

“It was odd, one moment I was just staring at the damn truck like a deer in headlight, and then I felt something push me forward and an urge to move. Unfortunately then my foot caught the ground and well… This isn’t the first time I guess.” Zach’s eyes were focused on the hands clenching his sheets, afraid to look up and see the hurt the words would have brought upon the three. The air grew heavy with unspoken hope, before the man himself broke it. “I-I must have been just seeing things.”

Ashton fought with his own hopes and fears, knowing that if Isabella was still around, that meant she was in the grip of that ghost, most likely suffering in a hell she did not deserve to be in, in the slightest. Smothering that flicker of hope, he forced himself to believe that all that remained in his dreams were his own aching wish, but a few months later, it all came back. If he had known just how dangerous the arrest would have been, he would have requested more backup, but he was no seer. So he was shot, multiple times, and in the darkness, he floated. Above was that stereotypical ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ and below him was a not so sweet oblivion. The cold of death was numbing, sapping all energy from him and pulling him away from the proverbial light, when – she- came. Her warmth, her cries, her pleading to keep on swimming, to fight. He could see Isabella just beyond his reach, struggling against the own dark, slimy tendrils that kept her in the darkness. He couldn’t clearly understand her words, but he got the impression.

**_Wake up!_ **

The urge to turn and join her in the cold grip of death wasn’t even an option. As if she sensed the very thought, she gave him a seething look and sent him almost scrambling back up into the living world. When he opened his eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights burned and the cries of relief made his head ring. He was alive and would recover with rest, the doctors said. But Ashton was never a really good patient, so in half the time, he was up and running again, despite the annoyed looks he got in his dreams. Seeing her like that did nothing but bring back the nightmares and the ache in his heart that never faded, but he didn’t go seeking trouble. Part of him sometimes wished to, but both his logical mind and a voice in the back of his head were enough to stop any actions. Isabella would never forgive him if he gave up after surviving through hell and more, but it didn’t make it easier to do so.

The second time he found himself on the boundary of existence, a few years later, it was much harder. That bitch’s slimy claws reached from him this time from the abyss, but with the ghost’s unwanted return, came the flame, which over the last two years became a steady glow. This time he clearly remembered Isabella shoving him away, letting the spiteful ghost snatch her up with an angry wail. Instead of screaming and fighting, all Isabella gave him was a tearful look and a clear plea.

_Please, live._

This time, his recovery took much longer, and the drugs left him floating in dreams more than usual. In those chemically induced dreams, she came with an angry reprimand and that angry puppy look.

_Just what are you thinking, Ashton Frey! You could have died and there would be nothing I can do about it!_

It’s not like he had asked the man to shoot him point blank.

_That’s SO not the point and you know it._

Yeah well…

_UGH! You’re impossible sometimes you know that?_

Ashton knew, but he didn’t care. He was too busy laughing at her adorable rage, as she tried to look intimidating. He missed not overthinking things, the calm she brought to his mind, and in this haze of nothingness, and there was no need to feel awkward. He simply laughed and pulled her in and held her, soaking in her warmth. How long they floated there, he didn’t know, but it was far too short.  When he woke, his body felt weird to him, as if it was an old skin that didn’t feel right anymore and everything felt cold. Only in his chest did he feel that familiar warmth, _her_ warmth soothing away the hurt.

* * *

 

After that second brush with death, however, she didn’t appear in his dreams and the nightmares came back with a vengeance for months. Part of him wanted to believe, begged, that he could feel her lingering just out of sight on the nights where the night terrors didn’t strike, but he could never catch a full glimpse of Isabella. It was as if that spiteful spirit had discovered the joy and hope that is Isabella, and hid her away. It tore at his walls, threatened to break him despite of all the shit and hell he’s seen. All the corrupt, morally bankrupt men and women he’s investigated never did phase him, but losing Isabella again? It was almost a relief when she appeared, not facing him and staring upwards at the stars. On that dream hill, they stood, though he desperately wanted to move and hold her again, to take in her warmth, but something stopped him. She stopped him.

_Ash, you shouldn’t be clinging to the past you know? I mean, I’ve heard the stories of your fling with … well. Haven’t you gotten lonely yet?_

It shocked him and made him struggle against whatever she was doing to hold him in place in his own dreams. She turned her head slightly, reaching up to brush away something wet from her face before continuing.

_Not that… I gu…I… there won’t be a third time you know. I can’t keep protecting you forever, and you really shouldn’t be calling me here. Its… it’s not good for you, you know? Mama… Mama always told me that while the past is important, you gotta just keep walking ahead._

She turned toward him, the sky behind her turning dark as the stars began to fade away one by one. What stunned him was her words. Protecting him? Wasn’t that his job, at least… then again he failed to in life, and in his blind attempt to figure out the curse, he did recall hearing her voice at key points. Had she always been there? He vaguely recalled hearing her in moments when fear froze his limbs and when the danger was greatest, but he had merely brushed it off as the adrenaline rush affecting his senses. She moved towards him for a moment, before giving him a sad smile, hand moving to tuck a wayward strand of hair away from his face. Had it always been down in this dream?

_Ash, thank you. For everything..._

And then warmth again, against his body and on his lips. The sensation of her lips against his, it made his heart soar and his arms wrapped around her as if to trap her against him and keep her there. It was a wordless declaration of her feelings, her true feelings. Feelings he desperately wished he knew all those damn years ago. If he had, would he been so hesitant tell her? Probably, but maybe it could of not taken him seven god damn years to admit it, even AFTER her death. As sudden as it began, the sudden cold of loss hit him in the face as he watched as she was ripped away. Behind her as the ghost, whose eyes he never did forget, and with her a wail of rage. With that crooked grin, she held up Isabella, as if mocking him before dragging a rotting hand down her body, before digging in. The crack of bone, the tearing of flesh, Isabella’s screams as the ghost slowly began to pry apart the flesh. Unable to move, he realized what he was seeing, her night of death. Yet unlike a normal death, the numbing shock never set in, and Isabella begged for her to stop, to leave them alone but the ghost just gave her that same sickening grin and continued her gorge herself on Isabella’s screams until she faded away, leaving nothing but blood and gore in her place.  Twitching, the ghost wailed as hands lifted her heart and smeared words with the shredded thing on the walls before turning towards him and laughed.

His neighbor pounded at his door, asking if he needed help.

* * *

 

Twelve years after Isabella’s death and Ashton was just tired. Though he couldn’t remember the nightmares, he knew that he had them when his palms were clammy and he could feel the inky tendrils around his arms. What was worse is that he no longer dreamed, all it was for him each night was oblivion or terror, and it was fraying his willpower. So when he found himself face to face with the scumbag, ready to drag the man back in for his crimes and those newly acquired, he didn’t fight it when his chest exploded in pain. From his place on the ground, he saw his team tackle the raving lunatic down, before closing his eyes and letting the darkness take him a third time. This time he didn’t bother even trying to head towards the light.

It wasn’t like he’d live with this particular shot to the chest anyways.

In the darkness he sat, waiting for Isabella to appear and ignoring the call to simply fade away. When she didn’t, he hit the invisible ground, trying to call her to his side, and when that didn’t work, he waited for the ghost, or ghosts as he soon realized. The twisted mess of souls didn’t disappoint, dragging herself out of the quagmire that was her home. A withering bed of bloodied souls and hopeless wails for release. The cold sensation of hate and fear froze him where he lay, but faintly, he felt it and he forced himself to move. Mindlessly he fell towards it, grasping on to that faint, thread like sensation of warmth and found Isabella, surrounded by crying souls that pawed and tried to devour her faint light. Her whimpers were muffled, as she fought against it all, fought to remain herself, but when her eyes fell upon him, he could see the hope she clung to begin to falter. She began to babble about how he wasn’t supposed to be there, how she failed, and now… now? Now her light began to flake away, leaving Isabella vulnerable to the agony that surrounded them. Instinctively he pulled on that fragile piece of string, watching as she tumbled forward and crashing face first into him. He pulled her against his chest, though she reacted by trying to push him away and begging him to run away and leave her behind. However, all he could think of how he missed her and damn was it cold and she was so warm. With arms he wasn’t quite sure were real, he pulled her against him once again, away from the wailing mass, and rested his forehead against her own. She didn’t fight him again, folding herself into his arms as her voice failed and she simply held him as tightly as he held her. He waited for her sobs to die down before pulling her close, lips teasing her own.

_“Hey Scaredy-cat, waited long? Sorry that I took so long to get here, but…_

_Next time, I won’t wait as long to tell you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Annnnnd... yeah. I'm not entirely sure if it's a happy ending (they both fade away/get reborn) or bad (they're both STUCK there with the ghost). Mmmm, Well it's up to the reader I guess. Maybe I'll do a comedy next... dunno.


End file.
